acknowledging transgressions
by gophish1
Summary: Vaughn acknowledges the maturing relationship he shares with Sydney


title: acknowledging transgressions 

author: gophish

e-mail: elreeder@comcast.net

spoilers: Almost Thirty Years

rating: PG

classification: Vaughn POV, missing/extended scene, good ole stream of consciousness. 

summary: Vaughn acknowledges the maturing relationship he shares with Sydney; Credit Dauphine May Challenge (damn that word…"transgression").

disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me. 

_tiles__ – red, blue, yellow – primary colors in a cool, quiet bathroom.  everyone downstairs opening gifts and eating cake.  Michael was on his knees scrubbing; harder, harder, harder still, his pants still wet.  two seconds more, maybe not even, maybe if he had of ran; too many maybes.  all he could think about was cleaning up his mistake, eradicating whatever embarrassment he could save himself, eight years old and still pissing on himself.  he dug deeper and deeper into the colored tiles with each forceful movement and when it was cleaned, he sat on his knees with the wet towel draped across his pants, crying.  "Michael?"  his mothers voice on the other side.  should she find out, everyone would laugh.  "Michael, dear, we're going to eat cake.  You've been in there for twenty minutes.  Come out and eat some birthday cake, son."  _

there comes a time in everyman's life where things he has done in the past tend to get left for the past to weld into fond memories of what once might have been, but what has helped shape what is.  that day in the bathroom is one he had almost forgotten – _memories – __hallowed sections of memory – every detail stored away in some tiny little receptacle in his brain that could be -categorized and easily referenced- in times like these.  it was better to think about embarrassing childhood moments –__she is beautiful – __God she is beautiful – __her voice muffled – __you can smell her – funny how much everything fits tightly within his head, yet so little he wishes to share with her – __he wishes she could know –  how nice it feels to sit so close in the middle of this train station, talking about things – unimportant things – just things.  __it's__ nice to share things.  _

story after story exchanges.  train after train.

_those__ days in __Normandy__ felt different.  opened doors that led to endless hallways.  not much he remembers about that, except that his mother went to __Paris__ the first Thursday of the month for reasons unbeknownst to him.  he stayed behind and scoured the French countryside anxiously waiting her return.  she was strong, his mother.  she reminded him of her.  her hair.  the crescendo in her voice at the end of her questions.  _

she sits up.  at first he thinks she is going to leave, but feels content when she starts on about the London County High School Marching Band.  how tradition required the homecoming court to come onto the football field riding horses during half-time; Sydney was the third horse from the back and rode beside the last of the band members – tubas, trombones.  they were playing a Chicago review – _25 or 6 to fooouuuuuuurrrr- BOOM – horses scattered, people ran.  Sydney was thrown to the ground, fracturing her wrist.  forevermore, Chicago songs – __Does__ Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?  Saturday In The Park – didn't matter –  they all make her think back to that moment._

her eyes squint when she remembers; they stare at random objects, focusing in on them.  he feels the back of her hair brush against his cheek – _shampooed everyday – __a salon product – he wishes he could turn around and rub the back of his fingers down the curve of her neck or push the few loose strands back into place behind her ear._

he went on about his father's diary and his blind devotion to his job – it felt nice in this moment between them.  like old friends who hardly knew each other –_ Michael? – funny how the little trials of each person's life are hidden deep within themselves until suddenly that sequestered spark of truth pops out– __sometimes the truth soothes – __sometimes the truth hurts – like a Freudian slip._

_he__ felt like running. 1978 and so much had happened; Smurfs, test-tube babies, and Superman.  in retrospect, all trivial in contrast to the loss of a parent, yet the day his father died, he shed no tears, lost no sleep.  he had ran his whole life; it was second nature to run away and not cry, that's what men do – ten years old and trying to be a man.  men are always close to their mothers, cradling in their bosom, finding solace in the arms that reared them.  although he idealized his father, it was the defining moment in his life, where he began the course in inevitably becoming the Michael Vaughn he is today, chasing after __Sydney__ again and again._

tears were welling up in her eyes, her voice just beginning to quiver.  she thanks him.  _"502 Eastbound train, __Los Angeles__ to __Memphis__ to __Cleveland__ now boarding.  502 __L.A.__, __Memphis__, Cleveland, eastbound now boarding."   it was getting late and only a select number of  people remained in the station.  the area where they were sitting had been swept clean twice already and the tired worker was making his way towards them once again._

she was eighteen years old and away from home for the first time.  one year before her life met up with SD-6, she became the typical college freshman, soaking up every ounce of flavor life had to offer – _times away from her father –__ nanny – __the shadowy veil of her mother's death – although the distance had been made long ago, her father was still the only shred of family that she had left.  family doesn't matter when a girl blossoms into a woman.  __Rita Hayworth – Audrey Hepburn – real women.  maturity was setting in and college life was the perfect melting pot for her new found ideals._

he wanted to invite her for coffee –_ good coffee, Syd?– but couldn't help hearing the words of Weiss and his justified warnings __–  i __probably shouldn't­ – she stretches out her legs she's kept cradled for the better part of an hour.  she yawns, thanks him again.  the silence is rewarding – __the longer you know someone the less you need to ask about –  Khasinau didn't matter anymore to him.  _

he can hear her stand, she's leaving – _goodbyes – he turns and watches her exit through the right.  leans back, arm up, watching the train pull in.  last train for the evening, must be._

_"..when you first walked into my office with that stupid bozo hair, i thought you were crazy.  i mean, i actually thought you might be a crazy person.  i've seen  who you are."   __see__ her now – the impact she's had; on him, those around him.  the way she makes him feel, the way she feels about him –  only too embarrassed by her professionalism to admit.  much has come to pass since that night on the pier –  so many boundaries.  he sits for twenty minutes assessing the juxtaposition; is, was, should, can't. _

those memories, tucked inside a man's past – _everyman's past – give reason to his non-disclosure, ultimately lapsing into the man he is today – __walking off to the left – hands in his pockets, stepping out onto the street, fiddling the loose change between his fingers.  he looked at his wrist – __not wearing his watch – he looks back up – _

_As I was walking down the street one day…___

_A man came up to me and asked me what the time was that was_

_on__ my watch_

_And I said_

_Does anybody really know what time it is?_

_I don't_

_Does anybody really care_

_care___

_If so I can't imagine why_

_about__ time…_

-end-

a/n : _"..when you first walked into my office with that stupid bozo hair, i thought you were crazy.  i mean, i actually thought you might be a crazy person.  i've seen  who you are." – Alias : Episode 4  : "A Broken Heart" original airdate : 10/21/01, lyrics above : Chicago : __Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is? (1969) thanks to hil, 'cause i just love her. _


End file.
